Dear Ferret Folks-
 
This morning my most excellent hubby was temporarily overcome, and
disabled by Ping is He.
 
Let's think about this a minute.  Hmmmm.  Ping is He.  A two pound
neutred weasel.  Versus, my hundred and ninety pound husband, who can
and does crack walnuts in the shell with his bare hands for attention.
 
Let's review Ping one more time.  Two pound weasel with no nuts at all.
None.  Nada.
 
OK.  So how could Ping have POSSIBLY made my husband wail for help this
morning?  Really.  He was yelling "Alex!  Ping is..(laughter) he's tryna
eat (more helpless laughter)..."Alex!  Help me!  (Rapidly weakening
laughter) Get 'Im off me!" (just little hiccups now...) almost silent
laughter coming from the sofa where I had last seen my husband not five
minutes before.
 
What could POSSIBLY be the problem that my husband couldn't take care
of it himself?  I yelled back a suggestion that he handle the problem
himself, whatever it was.
 
"Allllleeexx!!  Heeeeeeeelp meeee!" (More muffled laughter)
 
"C'mon, Dann, it's just a WEASEL!  Deal with it!"
 
"Pleeeease!  He's eating...(more manic laughter, peals of it)..an he
won't let....Pleaaasee come help!"
 
I sighed deeply.  I did NOT want to get up out of my nice warm chair and
see what the problem was.  But as soon as I walked into the living room,
and saw Ping is He on my husband, and my husband on the sofa, (well,
half on) and my husband struggling madly to keep Ping is He from eating
his sandwich, I started to understand.
 
It seemed that Ping *wanted* my husband's breakfast sandwich of toast
and peanut butter.  He wanted it so badly, he tried walking the length
of my husband's arm to get to it.  We've probably all been through that,
your arm is waving around like a propeller because you have something in
your hand that a ferret must not, MUST not have.  And the ferret is just
using you as furniture, climbing out to your swinging hand as if your
arm were just an upholstered bridge leading directly toward the FORBIDDEN
THING.  Which in this case, was a peanut butter sandwich on toast.  My
*husband's * peanut butter sandwich on toast.
 
Well, yeah, my husband can defend his peanut butter sandwich without
any help on a good day.  This wasn't a good day.  Ping decided that if
climbing Dann's arm to get the sandwich didn't work, he would (quick as
a weasel) run up to my husband's face, and try to stand on it in order
to get a bite when the sandwich came near my husband's mouth for
consumption.  Ping was aided in this by having my husband's beard and
mustache to hang onto for traction.
 
My husband had to *remove* a weasel's head from inside of his own mouth,
because Ping was trying to climb inside of it in persuit of the sandwich.
Then my husband would, in self defense, hold the sandwich out at arms
length so that he could breathe.  At which point, Ping, (quick as a
weasel) reversed direction, ran up my husband's arm to his face again,
in hopes that the sandwich might be making another appearance.  If Dann
even opened his mouth, Ping was trying to climb *inside* for a look.
 
Dann had to open his mouth, because apparently a few minutes of this
rather repetitive action had caused him to laugh *very hard.* In fact,
he got laughing so hard that he could no longer stand up The legs went
first, and then he half-fell off of the sofa and onto the floor.  He was
utterly weak from laughing, and had I not rescued him from the two pound
neutered weasel, the two pound neutered weasel would have indeed put him
ON THE FLOOR, and taken his peanut butter sandwich.
 
Alexandra in MA
[Posted in FML issue 5074]